"I haven't the slightest idea. You seem very clever to me. That's one
thing. And--and the way you _depend_. Oh dear, I feel I've got to kidnap
both you and Jimmy and run away with you to some safe place."
"Good Lord!" he said, laughing harshly. "I'm just thinking of Violet."
"Why? She can't mind, now she's married."
"No. It was the idea of Violet's trying to kidnap me, and loving me
because I depended on her. Lord, she did the depending."
"That was why she wasn't any use to you, I suppose. Besides, Louis, you
know, I love you when you're not--not ill. And I love the way your eyes
look."
"Good Lord," he cried again, and started up sharply. "I say, Marcella,
I'm off to have a bath. Wait here for me--" He peeped into her mirror.
He had not shaved for a week and looked thoroughly disreputable. Holding
out his hand he looked at it earnestly. It shook, as he had expected.
"Oh, I say, what a waster I look. I do hope to the Lord my hand's steady
enough for a shave."
"Let me do it," she said. "It would be fun."
"I'm damned--Oh, I beg your pardon, old girl!--but I'm hanged if I'll
not make my hand steady. I'll do it, I tell you! If I cut myself in
bits, serve me right! I'll be half an hour and then--then--well, wait!"
She heard him in his cabin, whistling as he dragged out his trunk,
pushed it back roughly, dropped and smashed a tumbler and then rushed
along the alley-way.
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